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INTRODUCTION 




EARLY a century has elapsed since the bitth of Edgar Poe, yet he remains the fore- 
most of Americans w^ho have written enduring English prose on this continent. 
When we consider a few of those names, — Cotton and Increase Mather, Franklin, 
Washington, Irving, Hawthorne, Thoreau, Emerson, Longfellow, Lowell, H. B. Stowe, 
and now and then one more modern — we begin to grasp Poe's giant genius. 

As a poet he stands alone, — poor McDonald Clarke sometimes struck poetic fire, but his un- 
stable brain could not place before the peoples of this earth those divine things of which no one 
ever doubted that he was capable. 

Study the choicest of the works of America's alleged poets, note their maudlin sentiment, anach- 
ronisms, their false metaphor, then take up Poe and mark how that bright soul, walking in dark- 
ness, was yet able to diffuse his light throughout the decades, to cast everlastingly its effulgent 
glow forward over the centuries yet to come. 

Read, as a curious relaxation, the " Study in Scarlet " as though written prior to the " Murders 
in the Rue Morgue," and the marvel w^ill grow that Poe dared to so cleverly plagiarize by whole- 
sale the work of the great Sir Conan Doyle 1 

Of the man Poe, whilst we seem to know all about him, yet his whole existence is mystery. 
The many sketches of his life are made up of about equal parts of omission, sentimentality and false- 
hood. To write him " Edgar Poe," and to judge the man by his works, leaves all too much 
unsaid in a life interesting because of the unknown, the unexplored, in it. Who has ever taken 
serious heed of his military career ? Yet Poe was a soldier in the regular establishment, and a 
good soldier, too, being twice cited for promotion, within a brief period — an unusual record in the 
American Army of that time. Who cares to affirm that our poet led a blameless life? Who 
dares to delve too deeply in the shadows •which envelop his connection with the Allans? How- 
ever, it is not meet to cumber w^ith wearisome phrase this little book which is itself not a peti- 
tioner for favour, either from the Lftera.ti or the Illuminati. 

Mr. Robert Hartley Perdue, while claiming no extraordinary or esoteric knowledge of POEsy, 
is an ardent admirer of these children of mystery. In his leisure hours he has made a pen-and-ink 
folio of the " Raven," using " Quarles's " original lines as a foundation for his labours. Later he 
made four replicas for bibliophile friends. Mr. Perdue drew his borders as Fancy and Imagina- 



XI 



tion dictated, and incidentally answered some questions which were not truly met by Dore, or any 
other of our poet's distinguished illustrators. I mention one. How^ could the shadow of the 
raven fall upon the floor as pictured by all the artists ? The lamp is on the table, the bird on the 
bust of Pallas high above the point of light. Mr. Perdue solves the problem — for his light is in 
the hall beyond, shining obliquely down through the transom and naturally throws the shadow on 
the floor where Poe saw it. 

Mr. Perdue has read and re-read faithfuUy, and absorbed, all the Poe remains, and believes 
that "Lenore" is simply a figure representing what Poe imagined his own life to be, and we 
escape the sketch of the scuUery-maid posed rampant, flamboyant, recumbent, or prone, as the artist 
could best draw her, and then palmed off on an unsuspecting public as our poet's lost love. 

Poe doubtless knew himself possessed of that divine spark w^hich we commoners call genius, 
yet he walked ever alone in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. He saw the beautiful "Gates 
of Paradise " all aglow with chalcedony and pearls and precious stones, but no one beckoned him 
to enter. 

Edgar Poe w^as in no sense a bondman, yet no slave in his own Southland was ever so free 
of freedom as he. He was a greater mystery — even to himself — than all his tales of mystery can 
possibly be to his millions of mystified readers. 

At the solicitation of the writer, who has in his library No. J of the original folios, Mr. 
Perdue consented to the reproduction of his drawings in a different size. With him it has been a 
labour of pleasure and study, w^ithout emolument or honorarium, and every bibliophile and lover 
of Poe will give him cheer and compliment for his consent to publish his embellishments for the 
best loved and most characteristic of Poe's poems. 



XUI 




NCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and 

weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, — 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a 

tapping. 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, " tapping at my chamber door : 
Only this and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I w^ished the morrow ; — vainly I had tried to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore, 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore : 
Nameless here for evermore. 



And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door: 
This it is and nothing more." 



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SENTLY my soul grow stronger; iiesitatiog tben ao 
, longer, 

I Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; 
|ut the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came 
rapping, 

nd so faintly you came tapping, tap ping at my chamber door, 
was sure I heard you" — here I opsocd wide the door ; - 
Darkness there and nothing more. 

darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 

reaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before ; 

bee was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, 

word there spoken was the whispered word, " Lenore ? " 

red, and an echo murmured back th«f word, "Lenore : " 

Merely this and nothing more. 

he chamber turning, all my soui wJth;n me brir-isng, 
1 again a tapping something louder than before, 
id I, "sui-ely that is something at my Vki^Aow lattice; 
then, what thereat is, and this inysicry i.-xMor<:: 
be still a moment and this mystery <xplr e : 












XVII 



p 




RESENTLY my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no 

longer, 
" Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; 
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came 

rapping. 
And so faintly you came tappings tapping at my chamber door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door ; — 
Darkness there and nothing more. 



Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before ; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token. 
And the only w^ord there spoken was the whispered word, " Lenore ? " 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore :" 
Merely this and nothing more. 

Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning. 
Soon I heard again a tapping something louder than before. 
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; 
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore; 
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore: 

*Tis the wind and nothing more." 



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XVII 



Ad 



PEN here I fJoag the shutter ,when,with many a flirt and Rut' _f | 
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. 
Not the least obeisance made he ; not an instant, slopped 

Of stayed he; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber I 
door, 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber doer: 
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 



hen this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling 
• the grave and stem decorum of the countenance it wore,— 
'hough thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said," art sure no cravcil 
bastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore ! 
clI me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" | 
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



•ich I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse fM plainly, 
;iOUgh its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; 
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door, 
1 1 Bird or beast upon the sculptured biist above his chamber door, 



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XIX 



PEN here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. 
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped 

or stayed he; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber 
door. 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 



Then tliis ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling 
By the grave and stem decorum of the countenance it wore, — 
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said," art sure no craven, 
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore : 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore 1" 
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly. 
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; 
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door, 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 
With such name as "Nevermore." 



| | || " r"|""" i "in| | 



XIX 



■■MOHA:. 



J 



UT that Raven, sitting lonely on the placid b«»t, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he 

fluttered. 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, — "Other friends have 
flown before; 

On tfic morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." 
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
• Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, 
C- ught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster so when Hope he would adjure 
Stem Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure, 
That sad answer, 'Nevermore.'" 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in f roct of bird and bust and door ; 

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 



XXI 



Nevermore 



UT that Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he 

fluttered, 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, — "Other friends have 
flown before; 

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." 
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store. 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster so when Hope he would adjure 
Stem Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure. 
That sad answer, 'Nevermore.'" 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door ; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, 
What thb grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 
Meant in croaking "Nevermore." 



XXI 



- -■'^.i 




XXi!. 



m,^ 



HIS I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
To tlic fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's 

core; 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at case re- 
clining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er 
She shall press, ah, nevermore 1 



Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 
Sw^ung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 
"Wretch," I cried,"thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee | 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore 1 
Let me quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore I" 
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

" Prophet 1 " said I, " thing of evil I prophet still, if bird or devil 1 
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore. 
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore ; 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!" 
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



XXUI 



i 



R.OPHET r said I, "thing of evii - proplizt still, if bl 

or de.vii 1 
By that Heaven that ixnds above us, by that God we bot'i 

adore, 
Tell this soul wiiL son ow ladea if, within the distant Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whoni the angels name Lenorc: 
:iasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenorel" 
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore," 

Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting : 
r-v ' ihee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! 

.ia.e no black plume as a token of tha« lie thy soul hath spoken! 

^ve my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door! 

Fake thy beak from out my heart, and tiie thy form from off my door i 
Quoth the Ra-/eo, '* Nevermore." 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is idttiag;, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door ; 
And his eyes have aU the seeming of a d«mon that is dreaming, 
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor : 
And mv soul from out that shadow ih^U Iie& floating on the floor 
Shall be lilted— mvermorc ! 



XXV 



ROPHETI" said I, "thing of evil — prophet still, if bird 

or devil! 
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both 

adore. 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, | 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore: 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore 1" 
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting ; 
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken I quit the bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door ! " 
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



i 



And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door ; 
And his eyes have aU the seeming of a demon that is dreaming. 
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
Shall be lifted — nevermore! 



XXV 



designs protected by 

Copyrights, 

1901, 

by Robert H. Perdue. 



XXVII 



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